


Every Now and Every Then

by shouldbeover



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29775435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shouldbeover/pseuds/shouldbeover
Summary: Just a post-Endgame fixit. Steve and Bucky with no problems.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Every Now and Every Then

Bucky is sprawled across the big, brass bed, face mushed into the pillows. Steve stares. How can he not. Bucky is so perfect. He’s recently had his hair cut, closer to what it was during the war, but modern, short and fluffed up. He’s in a white singlet and good old white boxers, just like before. The thick down comforter is over one leg. The rest is exposed.

“Didn’t your mamma ever teach you it’s not polite to stare?” Bucky mumbles against the pillow, then grins with his eyes still shut. “Drunk your fill yet?”

“Never,” Steve replies, the honest, sincerity in his voice making Bucky open one eye.

“Sap,” he says.

“Jerk,” Steve replies in their old dance. “Get up, breakfast is here.”

Bucky groans, rolls over and sits up. He gets up, stretches, and absently scratches his butt.

Bucky never sleeps naked now. He went in the capsule naked, dragged out and forced into his tac suit still dazed. When he tries to sleep naked, even after sex, he tosses with nightmares, “Please, no, not there, not in there.”

Steve, on the other hand, maybe because his time in ice was encased in his suit, happily sleeps as naked as the day he was born. He’s slung on the hotel’s bathrobe, plush, white, so soft. Maybe he does it because Bucky appreciates the view.

They’re not hiding, per se. And they’re definitely not running. Those days are gone. Sam flies the red, white, and blue now—literally. If the world needs…well, there’s another team, younger, even more super-powered.

This isn’t even a vacation. All their days are vacations now. They have money, and they still have access to Stark Tech. They’re in Venice this week, this month, see how it goes. Steve’s already dragged Bucky to museum after museum, old, moldy buildings. Bucky is only, maybe, just now getting tired of marzipan.

The hotel is old but remodeled with every modern comfort. They’re on the top floor so the sounds and smells of the city are a little subdued. The warm air blows in through the open French doors. Steve shuts his eyes, and he can almost imagine that they’re home, home in 1936. The heavy air, the smell of frying garlic and onions. The smell of fish and damp that pervades everything here reminds him of the docks, and the cacophony of languages is just like Brooklyn back in the day. Maybe not the Asian tourists, but the rest of it: Italian, German, English, even Russian here and there.

Bucky puts on his matching bathrobe but leaves it hanging open. “Okay, where’s this breakfast?”

Breakfast is out on the balcony with its wrought iron railing. Platters of pastries and fruit, and good, black coffee. Juice and sparkling water. The little table with its white tablecloth is groaning with it.

Bucky pours himself a cuppa, takes a big sip, and leans his head back into the light of the sun, eyes shut. He’s a bit tan. Steve burns and heals, but never tans, just a few freckles across his nose and down his neck.

Bucky’s gorgeous and relaxed and it makes Steve draw in his breath, taking in Bucky’s long length, slimmer now than the fighting days. His gaze travels down from Bucky’s hair, over his slightly snubbed nose, his lips with their permanent pout, the cleft in his chin, morning stubble, but no beard. Long, graceful neck. The fit of the singlet.

When he gets to the boxers he goes even slower. The outline of Bucky’s cock is only just visible through the thin material. The opening around his thigh leads into tantalizing darkness. Even though they’ve been at it all night, Steve wants to kneel and kiss Bucky there. Make him hard, take him back to bed.

At some point Bucky must have opened his eyes because he spreads his legs wider, slides down in the chair. “Not gonna’ suck itself, baby.”

Steve groans, both with need, and at Bucky’s vulgar tease. “Punk,” he mutters. He busies himself with their breakfast. Breakfast, although it’s getting on towards noon. He smears a croissant with the sweet, whipped butter and bites in. Pours himself coffee and a full glass of orange juice.

Bucky tucks in on the pain au chocolate, the strawberries, perfect cubes of watermelon and cantaloupe. For awhile there’s just the sound of the city and of happy munching.

“So,” Bucky says after much of the platter has been consumed. “We hittin’ more museums, or…” He stretches again, arms long above his head. He knows. Of course, he knows.

“Bit hot right now,” Steve says, cagily.

“Mmm…” Bucky agrees. “Maybe a nap is in order.”

“Mmm…”

They grin at one another, stupid and soft, sassy and playful.

“I don’t know, Steve…bit wrung out after last night…might need you to do the work this time.”

Steve’s eyes are instantly huge, big puppy-dog face full of concern. “Did I hurt you? Should I take a look? Should I—”

“What? Give me a proctology exam? No, idiot, just feel like laying back and watching your tits bounce.”

Steve blushes, that fantastic blush that goes down into the white of his bathrobe, and Bucky knows goes further, all the way down his chest.

Bucky grins his Cheshire cat grin at Steve’s discomfort. “Go get yourself ready, babe, I’ll be in in a minute. Give you a nice seein’ to.”

Steve’s blush doesn’t abate, but he does give a soft chuckle. He gets up and makes a little show of walking inside, dropping the robe just as he hits the shadow of the room. There’d been some trouble with the Paps in the early days, snapping pictures of Steve and Bucky. The paparazzi quickly learned that Friday could delete anything anywhere, so it really wasn’t worth the bother.

Bucky sips what’s left of his last cup of coffee. He leans back and listens to the shower start up. He remembers in the way he remembers most things from before, in a snapshot, all at once.

Nineteen thirty-five, thirty-six. Hot as hell in Brooklyn. He and Steve out on the fire escape. Steve was in shorts, probably out of the kids’ department. Bucky had his khakis rolled up, shirt open down to his singlet. They’d splurged on ice cold Cokes and were lazily drinking them.

Steve lay back, knees bent, Coke held loosely between his legs. Probably not deliberate…maybe. Hands running up and down that bottle like… A drop of condensation sliding down onto his thigh, sliding into the dark of the shorts.

Bucky had wanted, oh, he had wanted. To follow that drop with his tongue down Steve’s white thigh, to have Steve’s hands on him, the way they were on that bottle, stroking up and down. Wanted to lick the sweat from Steve’s upper lip. Wanted in more ways than he could even name. To crawl between the V of Steve’s knees and just grind down for some blessed relief.

He didn’t know what to do with it then. His desire, his need, his passionate love for Steve. God and everybody told him it was wrong, but his body sure wasn’t listening, and his heart? His heart was always Steve’s.

The shower has stopped. “Buccckkkkkiiiiieeee.” God, perfect, stoic, heroic Steve can sure be a brat when nobody is looking.

He steps into the dark of the room and has to take a moment for his eyes to adjust. Steve’s waiting for him on the bed. He’s knocked the comforter onto the floor, and he’s got his knees bent, legs spread, just like Buck’s memory. His big hands are even stroking his cock like the bottle.

Bucky takes his own sweet time taking off the robe, hanging it carefully on the hook on the back of the bathroom door, peeling off the singlet, stepping out of his boxers. He hears a few annoyed huffs from the bed, but he doesn’t give in.

Finally, he turns to the bed. “Get up. Thought I said I wanted you to do the work? I’m just going to lay back and enjoy the view.”

Steve scrambles to obey, sliding to the side of the bed and up to his knees. Waiting, so pretty.

Bucky makes himself comfortable in the middle of the bed. He only has to raise an eyebrow, and Steve’s over him. Steve lowers himself onto Bucky’s cock nice and slow, nice and slick.

For a beat they just look at one another. Bucky tilts his head back and Steve leans in to kiss him. Steve sets up a pleasant, steady rhythm, as they kiss. But Steve’s always been an impatient boy, and soon his hips are moving faster, skin slapping against skin.

“Come on, baby doll. Lemme see ‘em,” Bucky teases.

Steve gives him a half-hearted swat at the pet name. “Not a babydoll,” but he sits up anyway. The new position hits some prime spots inside him, he lets his head fall back, and those amazing pecs do bounce to Bucky’s delight.

“Oh, Buck, you’re gonna make me come. God, I’m gonna come.” He’s gripping the metal rungs of the head board with one hand, stroking himself with the other. Bucky’s not sure if the bed can take much more.

“Then do, it Stevie, come for your Bucky.”

And Steve does, over his hand and onto Bucky’s abs. He groans in relief, and falls into Bucky’s waiting arms.

In one, smooth motion, Bucky flips them over so he can take his turn, hard and fast. Sometimes he can make Steve come again, but this time, his own orgasm overtakes him too soon.

“Stevie, Stevie, Stevie,” he moans into Steve’s shoulder and chest, as he shakes apart.

“I’ve got you, Buck, I’ve got you,” Steve whispers, big hands stroking down his back. “You’re safe.”

They stay, tangled together for as long as possible, then Bucky slides to Steve’s side. “So, baby, another museum?”

They look out of the still open window. The day has dimmed with cloud cover. There’s a smell of rain in the air.

“Doesn’t look like the day is right for it, Buck. Guess we should stay in.”

“Sounds like a plan, Rogers. Sounds like a good plan.”

  
  



End file.
